


A Change of Perspective

by chaineddove



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-14
Updated: 2011-11-14
Packaged: 2017-10-26 01:51:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/277297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaineddove/pseuds/chaineddove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Larsa has plans, and tunnel vision.  Penelo never has a chance.  Vaan never has a clue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Change of Perspective

**Author's Note:**

> Written because Penelo deserves more than half of anyone's attention, and prompted by the idea that Vaan likely would have no idea what was going on until he received the wedding invitation. Loosely set a few years after The Long Shot, though the references are so vague that you'll miss them if you blink.

She does not even notice it at first, assuming it is simply an expression of his extreme politeness – goodness knows her interaction with members of _polite_ society has considerably decreased in the last few years, making his good manners particularly conspicuous. He is attentive in his friendship, and she is flattered at the attention: an unexpected care package when times are particularly lean, an arm to help her down from the dock on the occasions they have to visit Archadia, the welcome gifts, all small and thoughtful, awaiting her in her guest chamber, the periodic letters in a neat and elegant hand, filled with news of Archades and all of Ivalice, the occasional invitations to various events and farces just when Vaan’s at his most insufferable and she needs a diversion.

The itinerant lifestyle suits her well enough but she is still a young woman, and cannot help but enjoy the tiny tastes of luxury he offers. He seems equally cordial with everyone, and she thinks nothing of the fact that he has somehow divined her name day and sent a pair of earrings which not only match her eyes but amplify her considerable arsenal of magickal skills. He sends something for Vaan, too, after all, and if it isn’t nearly as nice, well, Vaan never takes the time to write, and she always does.

She does not recognize what is happening for months, not until she is seated at his left hand at a state dinner, wearing a stunning dress she had found laid out on her bed upon her arrival – perfectly her size – and it suddenly hits her that she is laughing easily with the Duchess of someplace-or-other who is seated next to her, despite the fact that she is a peasant and a pirate and most certainly the only person at the head table without a pedigree. She turns abruptly to stare at him and finds he is watching her with that small, very gracious smile on his face which generally means he finds something exceptionally funny but is too polite to show it.

She realizes only then that he is suddenly taller than her, above and beyond the extra inches afforded him by his thronelike chair, that the small garnet sparkling in his ear is a stone which she remembers sending him once after a particularly successful treasure hunt, and that the thing he finds so funny is most certainly her naiveté. Flustered, she jumps out of her seat, sending her fork clattering to the floor; before she can bend over to pick it up, a liveried page whisks it away and presents her with a new one, then bows to her with the deep respect which one might afford to Duchess so-and-so, but certainly not to Penelo the sky pirate in her borrowed dress. He stands as well, offering her a look of concern, and then _every single man at the table rises from his seat_ , and she is as scarlet as the plush velvet curtains at the windows as she flees out of the nearest door she sees.

He finds her in the poorly lit corridor a few minutes later, her cold hands pressed against her burning cheeks, and she looks up at him – _up_ , not down, and when this happened she cannot imagine – and her heart beats wildly in her chest like a bird trapped in a cage. “I’m sorry,” she apologizes. “Really. I…”

“If you are well, I am not concerned,” he tells her, perfectly gracious as always. “Although they will talk, you know. One can’t blame them; they’ve nothing better to do. Whyever did you choose the servants’ hall?”

“It was the nearest door. Why are you doing this?” she blurts out before she can stop herself, and steps back to press her back against the stone wall, searching for support though she is unlikely to find it here. For a moment, she is afraid he will close in on her, but he lets her step away, his expression unreadable. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean.”

“If you prefer, I won’t.” In the half light, his smile is secretive and the light in his eyes is… speculative. Being looked at this way she feels very small and vulnerable suddenly, and she realizes for the first time that this boy who is suddenly a man is the Emperor of Archadia, and as such is likely far better than she will ever be at setting traps. “I enjoy your company,” he tells her. “Surely there is nothing wrong with that?”

“Well, no,” she says, abashed. He may be the Emperor of Archadia, but he is also a good friend, and she feels a sudden stab of guilt for accusing him, albeit mentally, of… well, she isn’t sure what, exactly. “I’m sorry, I’m just…” She offers a weak smile in apology. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” he says, and then just as she is relaxing he is abruptly standing very close and his hand is on her cheek and she cannot seem to force air into her lungs. He holds her gaze with his own for a long, breathless moment, then tells her, “You are lovely in that gown, Penelo,” and lifts a strand of her hair to his lips. She has to hold on to the wall so as not to lose her balance, and then he steps back and says, with the easy smile he wears so well, “Much as I’d like to remain, if I do not return to my guests presently, I fear they may invent all manner of unpleasant and interesting stories about me. Please, take your time.”

She stands with her back against that wall for a long time, reminding herself to breathe, staring at the spot where his back disappeared and wondering just what she has gotten herself into.

***

She tries to talk to Vaan about it, really tries, but Vaan is, as always, more concerned with other things. The easy affection she has always felt for him has flared in and out of something stronger for years – he has never noticed it, and she has always somehow assumed that there would be time enough for it… eventually. After this treasure hunt, or the next one, at this juncture or that – she keeps waiting and he keeps being oblivious and sometimes she really wonders if he would even notice if she walked away one day, as long as she left a supply of food.

“What would you do without me?” she asks him, putting her head on his shoulder. “Imagine someone took me away, what then?”

He spoils the moment by laughing. He always spoils the moment – she has come to expect it – but it still stings when he says, “What are you talking about? Who’d want to take you? We don’t have any enemies _that_ bad, do we?”

“You know what, never mind,” she says with a sigh. “Just… never mind.”

“You’re not in trouble, right?” he asks, and she thinks that it would probably be easier if she was. She doesn’t doubt he’d come flying to her rescue. Then again, she can rescue herself, too.

“No,” she tells him. “I’m not in that kind of trouble.” She doesn’t want to call it _trouble_ , and she’s pretty sure he wouldn’t call it _trouble_ either.

“Hey, could you move?” he asks with an uncomfortable shrug of his shoulders. “I’m trying to fly here, do you mind?”

“Of course not,” she says, and if he notices the sarcasm in her voice, he doesn’t say anything about it. Sky pirates, she thinks, really are the worst sometimes; she really should have learned that from Ashe’s example. She shifts back into her seat, sighs again, then stands up. “I’m going to take a nap.”

“Whatever,” he tells her, eyes intent on the vista of blue before him.

“Right,” she says crossly, and leaves. She wishes the door would slam, but it slides shut with quiet efficiency.

***

The next time she is invited to Archades, she drags Vaan with her, and refuses to let him leave her side. He doesn’t notice a thing, of course, but she is hyper-aware now of the warmth of Larsa’s hand on hers, the curve of his lips as he smiles at her, the way he looks at her as though he is remembering those moments in the darkness. Every time he looks at her, she remembers too, and blushes and looks down into her lap and hopes Vaan will say something stupid to take her mind off of it. Fortunately, Vaan often says stupid things, and she is pathetically glad she has brought him; she is already flustered over nothing more than smiles and glances, and they have yet to leave the aerodrome.

Vaan is not nearly as comfortable in the Archadian imperial palace as she is, and he has come with the intention of being bored out of his mind; when the young Emperor suggests a hunt before supper, he jumps at the opportunity, and she follows along, bemused. She has been a part of several imperial hunting parties, and is expecting half a regiment of guards and a cadre of bored nobles with hooded hawks.

Instead, Larsa gives them a conspiratorial look and pushes a panel in the armory wall to reveal a dark passage. Vaan whoops and dives into the darkness, leaving her to gape at their host. “The Emperor plays hooky?” she asks incredulously.

“One must occasionally indulge oneself,” he replies. She finds she has nothing at all to say to that.

“Are you guys coming, or what?” Vaan calls from the darkness.

“After you, my lady,” Larsa says with a small bow. She steps into the passage, lighting a small fire spell because there is one thing she is still certain of, and that is the fact that she is _not_ certain of what might happen in the dark. Walking between them in the stale underground air, she tries very hard to concentrate only on keeping the spell alight and putting one foot in front of the other, but is still pathetically relieved when they come to the end of the tunnel and emerge into the late afternoon sunlight.

Out on the grassy plains outside the city, Penelo closes her eyes and lets the autumn wind cool her cheeks. “Just like old times,” Vaan says, and grins.

“That was the thought,” Larsa agrees. “Shall we?”

They have a wonderful time of it, nearly getting lost in the wilderness and spooking their prey once or twice with outbursts of laughter. To her surprise, Penelo finds herself relaxing in their company, trading jibes and sharing a flagon of young wine when it is passed around. It _is_ like old times, and she thinks sometimes that things were easier then. At least they all knew what they were doing and why; in the aimless wandering that has come with peace, it is much more difficult to decide which way to go.

As they turn back towards the palace at sunset, victorious and carefree, Vaan walks ahead, whistling, and she sneaks a glance at Larsa, who has slowed his step to match hers. He is watching her again, and she is still not accustomed to the fact that he is unexpectedly tall and handsome and somehow unfamiliar. “What are you thinking about?” she queries when the silence becomes a little too drawn-out.

She has a moment to regret this and to think about jumping out of frying pans and into fires as he turns to smile at her. She stumbles under the force of the look, and he catches her hand in his, the gesture graceful and polite and somehow intimate anyway. She knows her cheeks are on the way to scarlet as her tells her, “Do not ask a question if you are not prepared to hear the answer.”

She lets her breath out in an audible sigh when she realizes she has been holding it and does her best to glare, failing miserably. “You are _so sure of yourself_ , aren’t you?” she demands.

“It is my job to gamble well,” he responds, and releases her hand. She is equal parts ashamed and curious that she feels the lack of his touch almost as keenly as she felt the touch itself. He doesn’t say anything further and she is surprised when she realizes that she almost wishes he would.

***

By the time he gets around to kissing her, she has worked herself into a frenzy about it, wondering why he _hasn’t_ tried when it’s so obvious he has… _designs_ on her. The anticipation of the fact that he will surely make an attempt sooner rather than later has her jumping at every innocent brush of his hand against hers, and he _knows_ it, too, if that smug little smile of his is any indication. She has been thinking about it so much that she cannot honestly say what she intends to do about it anymore, because she cannot honestly say whether she wishes he would simply to get the inevitable awkwardness over with, or because she is becoming curious herself – the only thing she can say for certain is that she does wish he would get on with it, if only because she hates _waiting_.

So she wonders and frets and by the time he finally decides to kiss her, she can hardly think about anything else at all. And somehow it isn’t any of the things she feared when she first realized what he was about – it is not awkward or uncomfortable or anything like kissing her little brother, if she had a little brother – but it is all of the things she has begin to fear recently – dizzying and exciting and unlike anything she has felt before. She is gripping his shoulders and pressing herself against his chest and urging him on in whatever limited nonverbal ways she can think of, because when he finally kisses her, it becomes immediately obvious to her that he can do absolutely anything he wants with her at this point, as long as he doesn’t let go. Which he does, regrettably, after a long moment, and she makes a sound very like a whimper as he pulls away. His eyes are so dark they seem almost black as he studies her face, and it’s fortunate that he seems to be at least as short of breath as she, because she thinks she could not possibly bear it if after all of this he was not as shaken by the experience as she has been.

“Well,” he says, a note of wonder in his voice, and that appears to be all that he has to say, so she finishes the sentence for him: “Well, don’t stop _now_.”

He chuckles and she blushes and raises her chin expectantly, and that appears to be that.

***

Vaan looks like a fish out of water as he waves the elegantly lettered invitation at her like some sort of particularly useless weapon. “What the hells _is this_ , Penelo!?”

“What, Vaan, have you suddenly forgotten how to read?” she asks, and although she feels suddenly sorry for him it is also undeniably satisfying to finally be the undivided focus of his attention. It is too little, too late, and she is not about to indulge in what-might-have-beens, but she thinks it is somewhat ironic that this is possibly the first time in their lives that he is looking at _her_ , and not at the sky beyond.

“You’re getting _married_?” he splutters. “That’s ridiculous, that’s just-”

“Why is it ridiculous?” she demands. “It isn’t as though this came out of nowhere! You just haven’t been paying attention!”

“But,” he says, and looks perfectly bewildered. “But you’re… we’re…”

“Not kids anymore,” she finishes for him, taking pity on him at last. “It’s been great, it has, really, but I think I’m done with flying. I don’t know that you’ll ever be done. And…” She shrugs, then smiles, softly. It is an unexpected light inside of her, this strange new feeling that has bloomed over these last few months. It leaves no room for doubt. “He loves me. He makes me feel… I guess like I’m the only important person in the room. The only one anywhere. And I…”

“Hey,” Vaan says, and shrugs, and tries and fails not to look perfectly miserable. “I get it. If that’s how it is, then that’s how it is. Good for you. Go be happy.”

“I am,” she tells him, firmly. “I will be. I hope you are, too.”

He stands there in the hangar, his ship behind him, and says nothing. She hugs him, and when he holds on too tightly, she doesn’t say anything about it. She does not doubt that they will see each other again, and fairly often, but it still feels like a farewell of sorts. There is a bitter note after all, she realizes, to her happiness, and it is this goodbye-that-isn’t. “You’re going to make _some_ Empress,” he says against her hair.

“I’m going to try, anyway,” she tells him.

“Don’t screw up,” he suggests, and just like that the bittersweet moment is over.

She thwacks him on his bare shoulder and tells him, “Don’t forget to buy a shirt for the wedding. Just in case you’ve forgotten, they like to wear _clothes_ in Archades.”

***

He is waiting for her as she steps into the hall, standing apart from his regiment of guards and the small crowd of particularly important dignitaries at the front of the room. As she approaches, she can see his face light up. The corners of his mouth rise slightly and she feels herself returning the smile, hesitantly. Everyone is watching her, and for a moment she is very aware of all of those eyes. She doesn’t quite stumble, but it is a near thing. She focuses on his face to calm her sudden nerves.

He reaches out a hand before she’s even halfway down, and with a laugh, she hikes up her uncomfortably long skirt and runs the rest of the way, forgetting all about propriety and appearances as she leaps into his arms. She doesn’t hear the collective gasp as Archadian dignity dies a quick and painless death. His smile goes from polite to delighted as he catches her.


End file.
